


For Now

by AnnaofAza



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Fourth of July, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-01 23:35:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6541348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“This is the way it’s going to have to be,” Jack finishes, hating himself. He doesn’t look at Bitty, staring up at the sky with the firework smoke in between the stars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Now

It’s after kissing Bitty for ten minutes straight under the popping and sizzles of color in the clear Georgia sky that Jack realizes that he has to say something.

The thing is, he doesn’t want to. He’s perfectly content in lying down on the layers of a Bittle family quilt and two sets of pillows, feet propped up on the hood of the truck. The last of the fireworks spit and sputter, like falling stars, and Jack imagines the guests still clustered outside the Bittle’s house applauding, then murmuring their goodbyes. _His parents will be expecting us home soon,_ Jack realizes, wondering how long they can stay out in the blue pickup truck until someone came looking for them. Bitty hadn’t dared to simply drive off with his father’s car, but had received the keys with a gruff, “Take care of her,” after he’d asked to borrow it to show Jack around town.

Instead of a tour, Bitty had driven to an empty field, then pulled out a picnic basket filled with two bottles of his grandmother’s homemade root beer and two mini apple pies from the blanket-padded trunk trunk. “Happy Fourth,” he’d said, with a shy smile, and Jack kissed him for the second time. They’d only broken apart with the loud boom of the first firework, and only briefly stopped to eat the pies and drink the still-cool root beer. For the longest time, they simply just watched the fireworks burst in reds and blues and whites and all sorts of colors, not saying a word.

Bitty’s head is now on his chest, arms wrapped around him. If this was Canada, Jack would have draped his jacket over him, but Georgia’s hotter than any place he’s been in his life. 

The whole time, Jack wished for an ice rink.

Bitty had only laughed. “It’s only going to get worse from here on out. Why do you think we’re going to the lake today?”

The afternoon had been pleasant, if a bit crowded and loud. The Bittles had invited all their friends and family, potato salad and burgers as far as the eye could see. Jack had talked to someone who’d fought in World War Two and another whose mother had been a nurse there, too, before someone in the Bittle clan roped him into the annual football game. Bitty’d only played a little, immediately leaving to chat with his grandparents after a particularly nasty tackle that left both of his knees skinned, though Jack suspected it was from the chirping that had been going on all day: _at least you’re in a real sport now, eh, Eric?_ and _you do look a bit less girly now that you’ve beefed up some._  Jack had opted out of the next round, and he’d joined Bitty and the younger cousins in the lake, splashing each other and trying to skip stones before toweling off to drive back to the house for dinner and fireworks. 

Their skin and clothes still sort of smell like lake water and ketchup and dust, which isn’t exactly pleasant, and there’s dirt and small pebbles in between his toes and in his socks. His muscles still ache from practice three days earlier, and he has a six AM flight back to Providence in the morning, where he’s going to spend all day and evening in conditioning, PR training with Georgia, and brief on the ice practice with the team.

Here with Bitty, though, it doesn’t seem to matter.

But Jack still needs to tell him.

“Bits,” he whispers, then gently shakes his shoulder. “Hey, wake up.”

Bitty makes a murmured _grauh_ sound, opening his eyes. “Jack? What is it?”

“The fireworks are over,” Jack says, then lays it all out.

He doesn’t want to, but he _has_ to. He’s lied to Bitty’s parents. He’s lied to his teammates—both the Wellies and the Falconers. He’s lied to his own parents, though he’s pretty sure that his father knows after Jack had come late to his graduation dinner. But he can’t lie to Bitty, not about this.

For what seems like fifteen minutes, Jack talks about his uncertain future as a rookie, about the NHL not having a single player who’s out, about the media and the piranhas that are reporters. He’s talked to Georgia, yes, a few days after graduation, but there’s going to be contingency plans and speeches to write and potential press conferences. Georgia’s warned him to be careful, even though the NHL seems more accepting of the possibility of having a non-heterosexual player than when Jack was a possibility for the draft, and there’s the unspoken thing that _this_ —him and Bitty—is so new, so uncertain, so susceptible to any sort of change. 

“This is the way it’s going to have to be,” Jack finishes, hating himself. He doesn’t look at Bitty, staring up at the sky with the firework smoke in between the stars. 

Bitty says, “I understand.”

Jack pauses. “Do you?”

“I haven’t even told my parents.” Bitty takes Jack's hand in his and begins to play with the fingers. His hands are small, yet so deft and gentle and capable of things from baking ten batches of cookies to passing a puck on the ice. “And look, I’m disappointed that I won’t be able to hold your hand in public or even brag about my boyfriend on my vlog, but…” He hesitates, as if steeling himself for something. “It’s not going to be forever, right?”

“God, no,” Jack breathes. _“No.”_ He squeezes Bitty’s hand. “I’m not—we’re not going to hide forever. Because I might want to also hold your hand in public or—well, Georgia’s forcing me to get some kind of social media profile on the Internet, so I would like to tweet about you someday.”

Bitty actually puts his hand over his heart. “That’s got to be the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

There’s another thing he hasn’t said yet, but needs to:

“I love you, Bits.”

“You do?” Bitty simply lays back on the truck, eyes briefly closed with a wide smile like Jack’s never seen before. “Wow. _Wow_. I love you, too.”

They should get going. He and Bitty should start packing the empty bottles and pie tins into the basket, fold up the blankets, put all the pillows in one pile, and get into the truck to drive back to the house.

But Jack needs to tell him that he loves him. It’s not easy to say, not after all these years of not even saying it to himself, and it’s not easy to hear, but he needs this, and Bitty does, too.

“I love you,” he whispers, and his hands move to Bitty’s lower back, pulling him closer. There’s nothing but the bed of the truck surrounding them, and the feeling of finally, finally getting to hold Bitty like this under the open stars after months and months of denying himself is exhilarating. His heart thrums underneath Bitty’s wandering fingertips. “I love you.” Jack kisses him, and Bitty responds, tugging at his hair. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart.” Bitty pauses. “Is that okay? Sweetheart? Or I can call you honey. _Or_ —”

“Bits. Honestly, anything is fine with me.”

“But you gotta pick!” Bitty protests, poking him in the shoulder, and Jack smirks back. 

“Trust me. I like both.” Jack pauses. “Wow. A nickname.”

Bitty winks at him, cheeks flushed red. “Pretty significant, huh?”

He remembers a drawled  _Zimms_ , and shoves it aside. Another day. This moment is just for him and Bitty. “Definitely. I…I’ll call you when I get back to Providence, and…we’ll talk more. Now, we gotta get going, huh?” 

* * *

Before going into the airport, Jack looks at his phone and sees a text from Bitty: _fly safely, sweetheart. See you soon?_

He looks back at the car, slowly driving away from the curb. Bitty’s waving at him from the passenger seat, and Jack briefly waves back, before turning towards the double glass doors with a sigh. The weather’s cooled down somewhat, and it’s gray and gloomy, with tired-looking people rolling suitcases and tiny kids snoozing in strollers. Walking inside, Jack sees his flight time flashing on a nearby screen, and a tired-looking man in a blue uniform locks eyes with him from the front desk. 

“Sir?” he calls. “Ready to check in?” 

Jack nods, dumping his duffle bag to be weighed, then signing the necessary forms and showing his ID. The man glances down, eyes going wide when he sees the name. 

“Zimmermann, huh? What were you doing down here?” 

“Visiting a teammate for the Fourth of July,” Jack replies, mentally wincing. _Teammate_. It begins.

The man beams in response. “Great! I hope you had a good time here! But I bet you’re excited to get home, right?” 

Jack briefly nods. “Sure,” he mutters, and slips away towards the area of gray plastic seats and weary-eyed travelers, pulling out his phone on the way. 

 _See you soon, Bits,_ he types, and slips his phone back into his pocket, preparing for the long ride back to Providence. 

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on [my tumblr!](http://annaofaza.tumblr.com/post/142702312023/tagging-scandalmuss-and-iblamejackzimmermannsass)


End file.
